


A Wife's Confidant

by Mari_Knickerbocker



Series: Like Two Ships in the Night [6]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Not Beta Read, Not Britpicked, Some Humor, girls night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-24 16:09:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3774973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mari_Knickerbocker/pseuds/Mari_Knickerbocker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes a wife just needs to vent to a sympathetic ear. Particularly when one’s husband is so clever he’s oblivious. Doesn't it just make you want to slap him? That is, when you don't want to scream in frustration and cry because you're the wife of a Time Lord and, for him, the marriage has yet to happen. (Not to mention your parents still have no idea <em>who</em> you are). Time-y wimey, wibbly wobbly: Who knew such a fun thing to say (and experience) could be so damned aggravating?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Wife's Confidant

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Still don't own Doctor Who or X-Men  
> I also don't own the lyrics to Black Sun those belong to Death Cab for Cutie

“Two gin and tonics, and keep them coming,” she instructed the bar tender setting herself down on a well-used bar stool.

The establishment is a hole in the wall type place, only the locals really know about it. The locals and those lucky few who manage to stumble upon it one night and fall in love with the pubs charms. It’s lovingly broken in. The finish on the wooden walls charmingly chipped and faded. A few lifetimes worth of memorabilia hung on those walls, adorably off center. The wooden table tops have developed a patina of age, helped along by spilled beer and the residue of greasy pub food smeared about by a dish rag. Remarkably none of them or the various chairs and stools have gone rickety with age and abuse but have remained the steadily reliable pieces of furniture they’ve been from day one. While the floor is remarkably clean of all and any sticky residue. 

It’s located somewhere at the end of the Milky Way and has all of the charms of Earth from bygone days.

The year is three billion and forty two and the top forty hits from the 21st century are playing on the supped up old juke box. It suggests a level of nostalgia that most nowadays would thumb their noses at but the owner of the pub revels in. Currently the juke box is running through radio darlings from 2015. Despite her best intentions the woman’s head starts bobbing along to the music, curls bouncing about jauntily. As the next song begins to play she really starts to get into things, tapping out a counter point along the bar top, swaying and shimming her hips and shoulders. The music changes again and she starts to hum along, even sing a little under her breath;

_There is whiskey in the water…And there is death upon the vine…._

The lyric inspires a change in her drink order, she flags down the bartender. Without further prompting a generous draught of whiskey is placed down in front of her.

“Well, bless me,” a honeyed voice purrs, “out of all the gin joints in all of space and time, you walk into mine.”

The woman looks up from taking a long pull on her fresh drink and smiles wickedly in delight. Its returned with interest. 

“Professor River Song, what brings you to my little slice of heaven?” A tawny haired woman on the other side of the counter asks, leaning forward to prompt herself up on her elbows and places her chin in her hands. She bats blonde eyelashes coquettishly over languid golden irises.

“Oh, I was just in the neighborhood,” Professor Song drawls twirling her drink with one hand whilst leaning her chin into the other. She knows the game and looks forward to playing it with relish.

“In the neighborhood, my arse,” the woman quips back taking her head out of her hands but still leaning on the bar. The bartender squeezes behind her with a playful slap to her rump and she leans back with a wry smile in an attempt to trip him up. River quirks an eyebrow.

“Bit young for you isn’t he dear?”

“Is he?” She inquires archly, “I never noticed.”

River hums reproachfully at that and occupies herself with another sip of her drink.

“You know Jack’s been threatening to hunt you up and propose to you again,” she informs the other woman offhandedly.

“Has he now?” The question is accompanied by a twitch of her lips that might suspiciously be a legitimate smile and a quirk of her eyebrows betraying real amusement. 

“That’s ambitious of him.”

“Indeed,” River agrees. Their conversation wanes after a beat and in the ensuing silence she becomes aware of the song still playing in the background.

_There is whiskey in the water…And there is death upon the vine…And there is grace within forgiveness…But it’s so hard for me to find…How could something so fair…Be so cruel…When this black sun revolved Around you…_

The lyrics strike her as being especially poignant and she feels something loosen in her chest. River suddenly feels the urge to cry and she covers it by draining the remainder of her glass. She’s not quick enough to hide it or the other woman is just that good at reading her. A frown mares her otherwise pleasant expression and she reaches down to pull up a full bottle of tantalizing amber liquid. 

“Tell me about it luv,” she prompts, pouring River another drink.

She does not need much more encouragement than that. Over the course of the evening, and several more glasses, River pours out her thoughts and fears about the Doctor, her reactions to his latest antics on the shores of Lake Silencio in Utah and the subsequent man hunt for the creatures known only as the Silence. Avery listens patiently while the professor went into detail about the impossible astronaut emerging from the lake to shoot the Doctor. She did not say a word as River explained the TARDIS blue envelopes and the fourth invitation mailed to the current Doctor from an older version of the man. Who, apparently, she, Amy, and Rory – along with some bloke named Canton Everett Delaware the III – had just watched a waterlogged astronaut murder.

“It was cold,” she recites voice flat with repressed emotion, “even by his standards it was cold.”

Even after everything that had happened, uncovering the Silence and spoiling their plans, River still couldn’t wrap her head around _why_ he would do such a thing. Send out invitations to watch him die like it was some kind of garden party. The man had done some rather ludicrous things over the years and if the notes jotted down in her diary where anything to go by then he would pull some even more preposterous stunts in the years to come. It didn’t explain; it did not _excuse_ , why he would make the Ponds watch him die!

“He’s a complicated man, your Doctor,” Avery muses, “dangerously so because he’s appears so easy to label then dismiss.”

“Easy to label, dismiss,” River repeats incredulous, “dangerously complicated? Have you met _my_ Doctor, Avery? I seriously doubt it. Because to me it sounds like you cannot even make up your mind about him.”

“Well then ducks,” Avery responds pouring River another refill and pouring out a glass for herself, “Why don’t you tell me about him.”

“Enthusiastic,” came the immediate reply, “somewhat eccentric and adorably awkward waving his arms about whenever I kiss him,” her brow furrowed then as she paused a moment to think. “At times rather capricious, with a fearsome temper,” River reluctantly admits.

“Hmm, doesn’t sound a bit dangerously complicated to me at all.” The woman observes with a sardonic eyebrow as she sips at her own whiskey filled glass. “Would you be willing to consider all his eccentricities and enthusiasm as nothing more than a clever smoke screen? One that you might have been blinded by luv,” Avery continues watching Professor’s Song face carefully.

River’s face crumbles as she contemplates the possibility that she doesn’t know her Doctor as well as she thinks. Avery reaches across the bar to place a reassuring hand alongside her cheek.

“Oh River, River,” she murmurs sympathetically, the pad of her thumb scrubbing away an errant tear. “You’re a young bride wedded to an – at times – immature, ageless godling who’s bowing under the weight of his own regrets. To make matters worse _your_ past is _his_ future and you are slowly moving towards a time when he just won’t _know_ you. Period. End of discussion but, perhaps, hopefully, not the end of the story,” she pauses there to swipe away another tear and pats River’s cheek fondly before removing her hand. River grabs ahold of Avery’s wrist and presses a quick kiss into her palm before releasing her.

“Welcome to marriage luv,” Avery concludes, “I suppose you could have picked a less problematical fellow to fall arse over tits in love with but then all worthwhile men, all **good** men are a tad complex, in their own way. Anyone else wouldn’t be worthy of you my gel.”

“But am I worthy?” River asks in a rare moment of self-doubt. She only indulges the emotion around her parents and Avery. 

Avery more so than her folks, since half the time when she bumps into Rory and Amy they have no idea she is _their_ daughter. River spent her childhood growing up as her mums best friend, her parent’s had raised her long before she was even born. Hell! She had to point out to her own mother the blatantly obvious torch her father had been nursing for the Scottish woman (since childhood) just to ensure that she, River, would be conceived – if that did not give you an idea of how _bloody_ complicated her own life was then there was no helping you; you were officially as dense as two planks of wood stacked together.

“Never doubt it luv,” Avery answered without hesitating. “Why would you ask such a thing?”

“Rose.”

At that one word Avery fixes a level stare at the younger woman and pours them out another measured draft of whiskey without looking. She picks up her glass and swallows it down in one go. All the while her golden eyes pin River in place, like a hawk with a rabbit.

“River,” she exhales the younger woman’s name with one soft huff of scornful breath. The archaeologist had never heard her own name encompass both a benediction and a curse before. It’s a talent unique to Avery, but then she had something like a billion (give or take) years of living to practice and sharpen her skills as a conversationalist.

“It’s a valid concern Avery,” River feels moved to protest and defend her vague – possible (most likely) unfounded – paranoia. It isn’t petty jealousy (it’s not!) but a genuine concern. 

She’s studied the records, the myths, she knows about the Doctor and his previous companions. She’s chased down every possible story about the chipper, young, blonde(!) shop girl who started traveling with him in 2005, trying to read in between the lines and suss out the true nature of the girls relationship with the Doctor. (River has justified this obsessive behavior by claiming it as the appropriately thorough research of scholar invested in her area of study. It’s absolutely **not** a wife’s attempt to reassure herself of her husband’s faithfulness). 

“A valid concern,” Avery repeats her entire manner screaming skepticism. “Does that help you sleep at night, telling yourself that?”

River doesn’t answer. But then the way she snatches up her glass and drains it is all the answer the mutant needed.

“Let’s examine this ‘valid concern’,” River could practically taste the sardonic air quotes, “shall we?” It’s a rhetorical question, Avery does not even pause long enough for River to think of responding, “Firstly, he knew Rose when he was quite literally a _different_ man. Secondly, if we are going to be childish about things and hold his past relationships against him, then fair’s fair, we’ll have to throw _your_ past into the mix. Branching off of that bit of logic you might as well be jealous of your own parents. Your mother fancied the Doctor something fierce for a long while, as I recall, and it wouldn’t surprise me if your father developed his own crush on the man.”

“Alright Avery, you’ve made your point.” River interjected. She was quite liberal minded, she had dated androids once, but bringing her parents into this was a low blow as far as she was concerned. She was aware of Amy’s feelings for her son-in-law, and River couldn’t really blame the fiery Scot; she did not know she had a grown daughter let alone a son-in-law and there was something inescapably alluring about the Doctor. River suspected the combination of being a Time Lord and the romanticism of traveling. As for Rory carrying a torch for the Doctor, well River was fairly certain she was unprepared and incapable of thinking of her father harboring lustful thoughts for any _one_ other than Amy , let alone another bloke. 

_Although if Amy wanted it badly enough and she talked fast he might……_

Oh, River was going to _murder_ Avery for putting that thought in her head. A wicked glint in golden eyes told her that the woman knew exactly where (and to what manner of depravity) River’s mind had strayed. She would need a memory cleanse after that, there were just some things one did not want to know – did not want to **think** – about one’s parents.

“Lastly,” the woman continued; voice even, expression matter of fact as if she was discussing the weather and not tormenting the young archaeologist with impure thoughts about her parents and husband’s relationship. “You should be thanking your lucky stars that he met Rose when he did, my dear. That lass helped him remember how to use those hearts of his for something more than just circulation. Speaking of, he has two hearts River. Twice the capacity for love, more than anyone else has.”

“But once he knows me, what I have…” River starts to object but falls silent at another stern look from Avery.

“Don’t go borrowing trouble, lass.”

They are both quiet for a moment as Avery serves them yet another drink. River is starting to feel the effects of the alcohol (she decide later, after assessing how much of a buffoon she’s made of herself, whether or not to blame her morose attitude on the liquor – she probably won’t, she’s not one to shy away from her mistakes) and for a moment she wishes she did not. That, like Avery, she could just continue on sitting here drinking her way through bottle after bottle with no ill effects. She knows the mutant only started to keep pace with her to be polite. No one likes drinking alone, unless they’re on a self-destructive mission. That wasn’t River’s style.

“I thought I _knew_ him,” River speaks into the companionable stillness between them, “thought I _finally_ had him all figured out. Then he goes and pulls a stunt like **that** and now I realize that I don’t know him as well as I like to pretend. I’m not sure if I should be grateful for that – I’ll never grow bored of him – or if I should despair; what if he grows bored of me?”

“Never pigeonhole people River, it’s the first sign of a lazy mind,” Avery advises sagely, “and you’re far too clever a girl for such lazy thinking. Besides people never conform to whatever categories you assign them; you need only to look at your own history for proof of that. Human beings are a contrary race; taking great delight in saying no when meaning yes and being obstinate just for the sake of it.” 

“He’s a Time Lord, Avery.” River reminds her needlessly.

“He’s a traveler without a home and great affinity for humanity,” she counters, “I don’t think you have to worry about the Doctor growing bored of you luv.”

“You’re splitting hairs Avery.”

“That’s life my dear, nothing but split ends.”

Despite herself River chuckles into her glass and tries to cover it with a cough. Avery grins lazily, impishly.

“I’m beginning to see why Jack’s always threatening to marry you.”

Avery shrugs and hums unconcernedly; “Jack’s all mouth and no trousers on that one.”

“Oh I’m quite certain he relishes the idea of having no trousers on and his mouth all over you sweetie.” The look Avery gives River then is sinfully lewd and River’s breath hitches. She’d have to have been an android not to be effected by the heat in those molten gold irises. 

“An ye claim yon Gustav is too young fur me,” she purrs smooth as honey, head tilting quizzically the corner of her mouth quirked up in a knowing smirk.

“I’m fairly certain that everyone is both too young and not young enough for you Avery.” At that Avery straightens up, throwing her head back and laughing boisterously. It’s not River’s best sally but she appreciates the woman’s enthusiasm. 

“Oh tell Jacky boy he’s welcome to stop by and make his proposes in person,” she chuckles, “I’ll set him straight.”

She’s left her meaning deliberately vague and River was content not to question it. Avery soon flags down Gustav and orders some food and another change in beverage for them both, there’s a shimmer in her eye that River recognizes as trouble. The night proceeds from drinking to dancing, their initial melancholy conversation shelved for a later date, with the two women getting into all manner of shenanigans not normally seen by the patrons of the homey pub. Since the owner was directly involved their antics were greeted with indulgent smiles and a few indignant squawks rather than forceful removal from the premises. The locals all had a soft spot for Avery – she was much of a fixture in their community as her pub and was always good about letting them run up a tab whenever and for however long they wished too.

By closing time it’s just Avery and River; the younger woman back sitting on her stool leaning rather listlessly against the bar, raucous curls having lost most of their spunk, and her head pillowed on her arms whilst the mutant unobtrusively goes about the necessary tasks of closing the pub for the night; unfairly as sober as a church mouse. River’s almost drifted off entirely when the bell above the door chimes quietly.

“Ah Doctor,” Avery greats him, voice low and soft as silk, “just in time. Someone’s in need of a ride home.”

“River,” there’s a gentle hand stroking her arm brining her back from the edge of a drunken stupor. The archaeologist lifts her head off her arms with all the dignity she can muster; its substantial considering her condition. “Ready to go, ducks,” Avery asks keeping her voice at that soothing register.

“What have you done to Professor Song?” The Doctor asks eyes wide.

“Wha?” River inquires passing a hand over her face, “Did you give me a piercing again Avery? A tattoo?” Her attention shifts to her arms and her clothing trying to discern if anything is out of place. 

It’s a little difficult, she has to squint to stop seeing double and fight the dizziness but squinting only leads to a headache. Giving up she looks at Avery and the Doctor, brows endearingly furrowed in puzzlement, mouth forming a moue of discontent. Without seeming to think about it the Doctor reaches out a hand to smooth her brow with his thumb.

“I took her at her word when she said she wanted to drink the night away.” Avery answered him ignoring his outstretched arm and grabbing ahold of River’s elbow, with a gentle tug she encouraged the intoxicated woman to stand.

“I did say that, didn’t I?” River asked giggling as she stumbled into Avery’s side. She was ready for it and barely swayed on impact.

“You did,” the honeyed voice agreed. River nuzzled her way into Avery’s side as they took a few steps away from the bar. “Where did you park the TARDIS Doctor?”

“Just outside,” he answered keeping pace on River’s other side. “You don’t have to come with us Avery; I can get her back safely.”

“I’ve seen the way you drive fly boy,” Avery retorted with an amused snort, negotiating their way through the pub door, “and she’s put away a great deal tonight. Do you want the inside of your TARDIS painted with the contents of her stomach?”

“Ah, no.”

“Well then you have two options; option one I come with you and you avoid that scenario or option two I don’t come with you, she tosses her cookies, and I reserve the right to tell you I told you so; indefinitely.” 

“But you already tell me that!”

“Then not much is changing, best take option one for a little variety.” 

“Am I going back to Stormcage?”

“ ‘Fraid so ducks.”

“No! Can’t I stay here Avery,” River wines and she sounds like an over tired four year (something River barely had a chance to be). She pulls away from Avery then and falls towards the Doctor. Avery guides her into falling against his side – the Doctor was not as practiced in catching the sudden dead weight of a drunken person as Avery and swayed with the motion – then pulled his arm up around River’s waist to support her. He’s making startled and somewhat strangled noises, Avery merely regards him with an expression that clearly says ‘tough it out boyo’. River, for her part, simply snuggles into his side. He’s taller than Avery, so instead of resting her head on top of his shoulder like she had done with Avery, River can actually rest it on his chest. Sighing contentedly she closes her eyes and attempts to wrap herself around him further; never minding that doing so might trip them up.

“Next time ducks,” Avery responds and she sounds like she’s holding back laughter.

“Next time,” River repeats, shifting her face and snuffling at the Doctor’s tweed jacket.

“Avery,” his voice seems strained.

“Relax Doctor, she’ll fall asleep soon if you just leave her be.” 

There’s a creak of a wooden door at the end of that sentence and a shift in the air. They’ve arrived safely onboard the TARDIS without incident and River feels the old girl greet her with a soft brush alongside her mind.

“Just go and sit down there with her,” Avery directs the Doctor and River can feel his grip on her wrist tighten as he leads her towards the bench.

“Wait who will fly the TARDIS?”

“I will silly boy.”

“How?”

“Telepathic circuits,” River murmurs into his jacket, “Avery’s a bit of a telepath. And the TARDIS likes her.”

“Smart as a whip that one,” the quip is full of affection. The Doctor huffs as he sets River down on the bench then joins her. She curls her legs up underneath her then snuggles closer to him. His hand has left her waist to settle gently in her riot of blonde curls.

“What were you doing?” He asks. It seems like a rhetorical question, at least. River thinks it is since it felt like he had spoken into her hair.

“Girls night,” she answers anyways then yawns. 

The usual dematerializing noise appears to be subdued as the TARDIS takes off and their flight is not as bumpy and jerky as River has come to suspect. She can’t make up her mind if it’s because of Avery’s piloting skills or because the TARDIS recognizes the poor condition River is in and wants to avoid the experience of vomit throughout the console room. It could very well be a combination of the two. She’s just about completely passed out, lured back into slumber by the gently sway of the TARDIS and the rhythmic double tap of the two hearts beneath her head, when she feels the Doctor’s voice rumbling in his chest.

“Just who is River Song to me Avery? I know you know.”

River rouses herself enough to answer that question as well, “Spoilers.”

“ _Avery!_ ”

From the pleading note in his voice River knows just the look Avery has given him. Chuckling wickedly she falls asleep.


End file.
